Resident Evil: Nightmare
by Frost
Summary: Joseph Frost returns to Raccoon City. Days after RE:2 and 3.


** Resident Evil   
Nightmare**

September 29th 

The monsters have ravaged the city. I've been through it for days now, and so far, there are no survivors. 

Well, I haven't seen any _ human _ survivors, but I hear 'em. Sometimes I hear them cry out as a zombie or worse gets to 'em and kills its prey. Sometimes I just hear gunshots. But I never saw them. At least since the first day I crawled back from that godforsaken mansion. 

I don't know how I survived that explosion. Maybe it was because I was outside, and the explosives were designed only to destroy itself and nothing else. 

It seemed like it was years ago when I arrived here, only to find that the S.T.A.R.S. had left, and the rest of the R.P.D. members were either dead or turned into one of those. . . things. 

Jill. . . Chris. . . Barry. . . And the ones that remained, had all fled the city. My side still hurts from those goddamned dogs that ambushed us back at the mansion. 

But I'm Joseph Frost, a S.T.A.R.S. member. Pain means that I am alive. 

And I am very, very much alive. 

  


** Book One:   
Return From Certain Death**

  


Chapter I: 

Midnight 

Joseph checked the remaining rounds in his shotgun. _ Seven shells in the barrel, three in my left breast pocket. Not too good. _ He pulled out his Heckler & Koch .35 pistol. _ Got a full clip, so fifteen shots. Then three others in my hip pouch. Not a lot for a needle-shooter. I'd give my right arm for a heavy slug thrower, but I guess that isn't in the cards. _

He looked around the small room, which was about two meters by two meters. The place had all these knives and he could see a couple of swords, but all of which were dulled out. _ Goddamned replicas, _ he mused to himself. _ They don't do me any good. This is what I get for hiding in a collectables shop. Nothing but useless crap that at this point in time can't do me any good. _

He jumped when there was a hard, loud knocking against the door on the opposite side of the room. _ More like someone slamming his whole body against the door. Must be one of those zombies, I guess I should call them. _

Cautiously, he limped to the peephole. The creature was much more disgusting that Joseph had first imagined. The right arm was dangling as if not attached to the shoulder. It just threw itself against the wooden door, with no regard to its body. Joseph took one look at the hinges of the door and shook his head. _ This thing is gonna break the door down. Gotta take it out--fast! _

He slowly sank back to the wall, watching the door strain from the zombie slamming its entire body against it. Joseph strapped his shotgun around his chest with velcro and pulled out his pistol. _ Just in case. No need to waste ammo. _ He took one step forward, turned to the side, and kicked the door. The weakened hinges gave, and blew the zombie back about five feet. _ Move, move, MOVE! _

Joseph dove into the hallway, finding that there were only two ways to go--either go back into the tight room, or go right over the creature. _ Can't stay here any longer. _ Taking one step back, he ran in a sprint, evading the moaning biohazard's reach. He looked back only after reaching the exit to the back of the shop. The zombie had managed to get to its feet, however the right arm which hung by a few threads had finally disconnected from the rest of the body. 

"Oh, shit. That's disgusting," he said aloud. He aimed his pistol, and only with the precise aim of a S.T.A.R.S. member, shot a bullet through the freak's right kneecap. The monster moaned only slightly louder, letting Joseph know that he had hurt it. The zombie slipped, and fell face first onto the already bloodstained carpet. 

Joseph dashed out the door, ducking underneath the arms of another humanoid zombie. However sickening it looked, he could see that its nails had long since fallen off and its teeth had either fallen out or had been knocked out. Unafraid of becoming infected with the T-Virus, he raised his foot up and kicked at its chest, rocking it against the wall. 

Turning around, he looked either way down the dark alley. Zombies slumped against either side of the wall. _ Well, they _ could _ be zombies, but they could also be human. Have to be sure so I don't walk away from any survivors. _

Slowly and deliberately, he stalked to his left, his eyes darting from side to side. _ Just breathe, Joseph. Just breathe. _ He stepped over the legs of one such body, and jumped when it moved. However, it was only his feet accidentally moving the leg. 

"Dammit, Joseph. It's nothing. Just a dead guy," he told himself. 

As the "dead guy" raised a gun at him, Joseph brought his own pistol around. "I don't find the 'dead guy' remark very amusing, Joseph." 

"Jesus Christ! Captain, I thought you were killed back at the mansion!" Joseph exclaimed. 

_ It's been a long time, Captain Wesker. I knew that there was more than just "cool shades" and slicked back hair with you. _ S.T.A.R.S. Captain Albert Wesker was the Alpha Team Leader. Joseph knew that he, Chris, and Jill had made it into the mansion, but never saw him get out. _ Until now. Just like a bad penny, you always turn up. _

"Oh, Mr. Frost," Wesker half-laughed, "I can tell you that I am not as far from being killed than you think. The explosion sent some shrapnel and heavier things come my way as I dashed out the back. Got some glass and pieces of rock stuck from the right side down to my thigh. It's been hurtin' like a sonuvabitch, but I've been able to function with it. Still, doesn't make things any easier, y'know?" 

"Oh, yeah, I know," Joseph replied. He helped Wesker to his feet. "So, you know where we can find cover? Damned zombies blasted through my little barricade in a nothing flat. How could've they gotten so strong? The T-Virus doesn't have ** that ** much of an effect." 

Wesker shook his head, hocking back and spitting on the pavement. Joseph noticed that the spit had more than traces of blood in it. "How'd you know about the T-Virus? I thought you never got to the mansion." 

"Chickenheart told me 'bout it. I managed to find him and talk to him before more of those damned things broke through and separated us. I haven't seen him since," Joseph looked back at his gun. 

"Wish you took the Colt, didn't you? A .45 could do us both good," Wesker laughed. "Saw Brad a couple days ago. He was runnin', shootin' anything that moved. He went into a bar and didn't come out. Jill ran in there, too, but I didn't see either of them come out. I figured the bastards had gotten 'em." 

"How come you didn't call out to them?" Frost frowned. Wesker guestered with a tilting of the head that they should get moving. The younger S.T.A.R.S. member obliged, and followed the Captain, both with a limp, though Albert's was only slight, while Joseph had it real bad. _ I'm sure it'll be permanent by the time I get to someone, _ he thought bitterly. _ So much for my career. _

"I tried, Joseph. Fuck, I tried. The window of the house I was in didn't budge, and my yells didn't carry across the street. Oh, watch out here." 

Joseph frowned, looking around. They had reached the end of the dark alley and there was a wooden door. He didn't see anything on either building that made the alley. "What's wrong?" 

"Very slowly, look at the broken mirror," Wesker advised, pulling out his own pistol, a Baretta. Frost did as the Captain had said, and knew exactly what he meant. _ Only went toe-to-toe with this sucker once. Man, did I never want to do that again. _

The monster was able to climb walls without any effort. The sounds it made was like a man who had a wet cough and was gasping for breath. However, it was also the predator's normal breaths. After reading reports strewn about in squad cars, he recalled that its name was 'Licker', because its tongue was about as sharp as a Japanese _ katana _, and twice as long. Joseph holstered his needle-shooter and got ready to unstrap his shotgun. Wesker put a hand over Joseph's, stopping him from completing the manuever. "Don't. The bastard can hear farther than you think. It'll see us and get to us quick." 

"Pistols hurt it, but not much. I don't like taking risks like that," Joseph countered. Wesker nodded, seeing the wisdom of his words. The Licker still lay on the fire escape, not even moving. Joseph wondered if he was asleep. 

"I'll get its attention, and bring it to me. Get that shotgun ready before it reaches me, 'kay?" he smiled. 

"Looks like I'm gonna save your ass again, just like that time when the Heavens Gates cult tried to take you with them," Joseph replied, with a superior smile. 

"Fuck you," Wesker laughed. Immediately after his tone changed, as well as his expression. "Just be sure that you can still shoot that thing good enough. I don't want to catch a piece of it." 

"If you can, get clear when I'm taking aim. My shot'll most likely knock it down, and stun it. You can get a good shot then, and blast it's head off. One shot to the head'll always kill it." 

"Noted and filed, Frost. You ready?" Wesker asked, checking his clip and then slamming it back into the butt of the pistol. He pulled back the barrel, checking the barrel to make sure a round was loaded in the chamber. Already he had both hands over it and was standing in the Weaver stance, where both feet were spread apart and the shoulders were squared at the target. At the sound of the clip slamming into the rest of the gun, the Licker stirred. 

"Well shit, Captain. Whether or not I'm ready, that thing is wakin' up, so go!" Frost hissed. Wesker nodded, turning around and firing a pair of shots at the Licker. Neither hit it, but sparks flew as one hit the metal of the fire escape from which it lay.

With a loud, rip-like sound, Joseph pulled the velcro strap and caught the shotgun short of hitting the ground. The Licker leaped from the fifth story of the brick building and landed between Joseph and the Captain, facing Wesker. It was larger than the one he had fought, about five feet tall on all fours, around seven feet if it was able to stand on two feet. It snarled, closing in on Wesker as he fired shot after shot, ripping through its skin. The Licker continued to close the distance between it and him as if they did nothing to hurt it. 

Dropping to one knee, keeping his right leg up, Joseph aimed his shotgun at the back of the Licker. Pulling the trigger, he winced as the recoil hit his side, pain shooting through his ribcage and down to his thigh. The shell exploded against the Licker, spreading out the damage evenly. The monster squealed, obviously not appreciating being interrupted from his kill. _ The bastard didn't go down! _

Pumping another shot into the chamber, he aimed again as the Licker turned around to go after him. He fired again, this time hitting its left shoulder. The creature squealed again, and then fell back from the impact. Wesker ran over to get a shot, but Joseph waved him off. "Don't." 

Frost pumped another shot into the shotgun, but strapped it back onto his chest. The S.T.A.R.S. member took long strides as the Licker took those deep, low breaths, attempting to ward off any attackers by intimidation. Joseph unholstered his .35, got about three feet away, and fired. The round blasted right through its brain, and ricocheted off the pavement and into brick, from which it also ricocheted and then went out of sight. 

Looking back up to Wesker. "The sonuvabitch was lookin' at you when I knocked it down. It hadn't seen me yet and thought that you were the only one here, and its head was aimed to where if you got any closer. . ." his voice trailed off. 

"Then it would lick me, and cut me in two with its tongue," Albert nodded, looking back up at Frost. "Thanks for the save." 

"Thank me later. Let's get the hell out of here, 'fore somethin' else comes around that's bigger and badder than a fucking Licker." 

# 

Chapter II: 

12:15 a.m. 

A scream rang out through the city as the two S.T.A.R.S. members strolled through the streets. Zombies had long since left, though the corpses that they left behind were still there, decaying as time rolled along. Frost checked his shotgun, knowing that there were only eight shells left, seven of which were in the shotgun itself, while the last remaining one was in his left breast pocket. _ Maybe there'll be somewhere we can find more shots, but I doubt it. _

Wesker, back in his "Captain Mode", scanned every nook and cranny of the street, looking for survivors, checking guns that all seemed to have ran out of bullets. But also, he bent down at dead zombies, and checked over it, too. Joseph figured that he was being thorough, and let it drop. "Where we goin'?" he wondered. 

"The Police Station is thrashed, and I know that it's got to have ammo. Let's go check it," Wesker suggested. 

Frost shook his head. "Negative on that one, Cap. The Station ain't there anymore. Explosion made it a big fucking bright spot on Earth. Surprised that it didn't destroy anything else. But I doubt that any ammo it had is still there. Check the squad cars, they usually got bullets." 

Wesker shrugged. "I would if I hadn't done so ten times already. They didn't have them the last few times, and they probably won't this time either." 

The streets had both R.P.D. cars and S.T.A.R.S. cars, all of which were damaged beyond all repair and bodies strewn about them. A few in the three-way intersection at the end of the street were flaming, but they weren't in the way. Wesker walked up to each house's doorstep, testing the barricades, and finding that most of them were sealed tight. "Let's see if there's anyone still hiding in here." 

Joseph frowned. "What do you mean by that, Cap?" 

Without replying, the Captain hopped up onto a totalled R.P.D. squad car. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he yelled out as loud as he could, "Is there anyone out here! We are the Raccoon City Police! This part of the City is no longer under attack! If you can, come out and tell us that you are alive!" 

Nothing. Again, Wesker repeated what he said, and listened for a reply. Joseph looked around, trying to see if anyone was trying to get out. Still, no one came out. Wesker mumbled something about engineered to perfection. Joseph could tell that he was looking down at the car. The car was apparently destroyed. _ Well, hell. I'd probably be pissed at the so-called creators of a perfect car, too, if they turned out like this. _

"So, now what?" Frost asked. 

"Keep goin', I guess we just keep goin'," Albert replied. "There's nothin' here for us. But. . . that bar over there looks promising. I think that we could us a drink or three at this point, don't you?" 

As a smile blossomed over Joseph's face, Wesker led him to the bar. As they opened the door, the blond haired Captain kept his Beretta pointed to the floor, but had both hands over it and was staying in his Weaver stance. _ He shoots with pinpoint accuracy with it, so I won't complain about him standing in the doorway. _

The place was clear, though that didn't keep Wesker from being cautious. He walked very slowly, his head jerking at any sound. After being satisfied that the coast was clear, he holstered his Beretta and turned back to Joseph. "Beer, or beer?" 

  


Sitting at the bar while Wesker stood behind it, Joseph slammed down the brown bottle of Budweiser with the greatest of ease. "Haven't had anything to drink or eat since the day I got back from the mansion. Chickenheart had bought from Burger King for me. Damn shame what happened. But ain't this the only bar in town?" 

"Yup . Everythin' else is somethin' like Starbucks, why?" 

"Then this is the bar that you saw Brad and Jill go into, isn't it?" Joseph asked. 

Wesker nodded, figuring out where Frost was getting at. "So then they aren't dead. Shit, I hope they got outta the city." 

"Knowin' Jill, she probably shot Brad 'cause he's such a pussy. Everyday he lives up to his nickname. At least he doesn't wear it like a fucking badge of honor, unlike some people," he glared in mock-resentment at Wesker. 

"If I had my shades right now, I'd put 'em on just to piss you off, my friend," he replied. 

"Once again, your never cease to amaze me, Captain," Joseph laughed, shaking his head. He looked down at the table, and narrowed his eyes. _ What the. . .? _

"What is it?" Wesker asked. 

Joseph waved him off. "Hang on, gotta check something. Watch out," he hopped over the bar, barely missing the Captain. 

"Hey, watch it! Are you hammered after just one beer?" 

Ducking under the bar, Frost stopped only to raise up his one-fingered salute to Wesker, then pulled on the handle of the cabinet underneath. "Fuckin' A. We hit the jackpot, cochise." 

"What'd you find?" Wesker asked, looking back under the table. 

Joseph came out with a box of shotgun shells, and a box of clips. "Got some shells, and some bullets. . ." he pulled out a Colt .45 eight-shooter. "We got a badass gun, but there are only six shots in it, so that meant that the bar owner had to use it for somethin'. He doesn't have any extra rounds for it, so we'll have to hold it back for something that can kick our ass without it. Looks like the bar owner took the pistol, so no luck there. But we got our own." 

Continuing to rummage through the cabinet, he got back out with another shotgun. "Another Remington pump-action shotgun to go with our new box of shells. Nothing to put it on, so you'll have to strap it to your belt." 

"There's only one place to put it, and I don't like it bouncing against my Johnson when I run," Wesker protested. 

"Cap, I climbed a fucking hill with it bouncing against my Johnson. You can at least run with it," Frost's ice cold look shut the ranking officer up. He ducked back down, pulling out one last thing. 

"Hell yeah! CAR-15 rifle, the close-quarters version of the M-16. Man, we can get by real good with it," Albert tried to forget Joseph's frosty look and to get some levity into the moment. Joseph did not agree. "What's wrong, Frost? I figured you'd be happy that we got something like this." 

"I'd be happy right along with you, Wesker, except you don't know," Joseph shook his head. 

"Don't know what?" 

Joseph pulled out the clip from the CAR-15 and showed him the bullets. "Fucking blanks! They're nothing more than caps to make big sparks. Except that's not the worst of it." 

"What IS the worst of it?" the Captain asked. 

"The hammer inside is wielded shut," he threw the rifle across the room, hitting the phone booth. "It's a fucking replica!" 

"Okay, Frost," Wesker urged, "just calm down. We still got a lot of stuff to keep us going. But there isn't any food, water?" 

"No. Looks like he used to, but took it with him. Why didn't he take the shotgun, though?" 

"Can't carry rations and pump another shell into the chamber," Albert reasoned. "Looks like there're clips taken out of the box, so he probably got all he could stuff in his pockets, and ran off with his pistol." 

"At least he left the beer for us. Damn, that tasted good," Frost licked his lips. "Got any more of that Budweiser?" 

"Nope, sorry. But we got some Sam Adams," he offered. Joseph nodded, reaching out for it. After squeezing some lime into it, Wesker gave it to him. 

"Thanks," was all he said before bringing his head back and taking a good long drink. Wesker had a lopsided grin on his face, shaking his head. 

Joseph swallowed, putting the bottle back on the table. "What's so funny?" 

"You drink like a homeless guy. Definition: messy. You look like you fucking bathed in it," he rested his head on the table, trying unsuccessfully to stifle his giggling fit. 

"I like my beer. And- - whoa. . ." 

"What?" 

The room started moving, changing colors. Everything seemed to look distorted. "Fuck. . . Eyes must be messed up. What was in that Sam Adams?" 

"Little somethin' the boys at Umbrella whipped up for me. Wasn't the beer, just the lime. You like?" 

_ Umbrella? What the fuck is Umbrella doing with S.T.A.R.S.? _ "Who the hell are you?" 

"I'm still Albert Wesker, if that's what you're asking," his demeanor changed rapidly, now sounding like someone from Heaven's Gates. "All these little things are our doing. We used Raccoon City as our own little guinea pig. I'd love to chat, but you're almost out. Be a minute before you completely lose consciousness. You want me to tell you about what I just slipped into your precious beer?" 

"Fuck you. . ." 

"Nothing but love for you, too. See here, double-oh-seven," Wesker giggled in his familiar 'Q' accent, "When someone drinks, injects, or smokes this chemical into their bloodstream, it enters the brain and shuts it down, bringing them into a coma. If nothing to counter the drug is administered within ten minutes of it entering the body, the victim is going to be in a coma indefinitely." 

Wesker laughed again. "As I said before, I'd love to chat, except you're about out, and I need to get going. You were the only person I was worried, and now I can go about my business. Good day." 

Joseph used all the energy he had to point a finger at Wesker. "You bastard," he coughed, "I'm gonna rip your fucking arm off and beat you to death with it." 

"You won't even be able to open your eyes in a bit, much less rip my arm off. I just hope that you don't feel anything if one of those zombies get to you." 

After taking all the ammo, the Colt, and both shotguns, he giggled once again and walked out of the bar, leaving Joseph to try to blink away the tears, because his hand wouldn't move to wipe them away. 


End file.
